"Where you headed?" He asks.
"South," is my simple reply.
"So am I."
That was the extent of our conversation. Then two
motorcyclists who have never seen each other before joined up and did just that,
headed south, side by side.
An hour later, the Magna needs some adjustments to the bungee
cords holding on the duffel bag. We pull over and Greg introduces himself. I
guess he is in his late twenties but with my track record, he is probably older.
We chat some and he says he is headed for Chetwynd for the weekend. I’ve never
even heard of Chetwynd. I am welcome to join him and a buddy of his. That sounds
cool to me and off we go. Just like that.
And as if someone blew a breath of fresh air into this
journey, the best road in the whole trip opened up before us. Freshly paved,
straight, no cops for hundreds of miles, endless forest, a wilderness welcomed
the two of us swallowing the bikes up in a straight ribbon of road disappearing
beneath the tires. 70, 80 miles an hour and the bikes just hum beneath us. Greg
and I kick back and watch the world go by, motorcycling at its best.
We ride over a new section of the highway completed only a
few years ago. It’s called the Trutch Mountain Bypass. The Alcan Highway
originally wound up the steep and twisty Mount Trutch. It's the second highest
summit on the Alcan at 4,134 feet. Now the road lies flat and wide, the same
swath cut through the forest for thousands of miles, this time through the
Minaker River Valley.
Cresting one particular hill in the forest, we descend onto a
scene of total carnage. There is a construction crew but no construction. They
are actually directing traffic for a semi tractor and trailer that is lying on
its side. The truck is embedded into a muddy hillside 20 feet off the road. We
are miles from anywhere. Its load of lumber is all spewed up and down the
roadside. Adding to that scene, four different semi tractor wreckers are all
hooked to the semi with their winches trying pull it right side up without
getting stuck in the mud which lines the road side.
At Pink Mountain, population 99, we stop to gas up. We chat
about our bikes and where we’re headed. He again invites me to stay with him
in Chetwynd. Chetwynd sounds as good as place as any. I’m ready for anything
after being on the road for two weeks straight. We walk into Mae’s Kitchen and
sit down to chat while having lunch. Greg insists on paying for the meal and I
pay the tip.
Pulling out of Pink Mountain, the road spreads across the
land as if it were painted across the earth yesterday. Smooth, black, and
endless. I top the Venture out at 110 miles per hour and 6300 rpm fully loaded
with all the gear. Aerodynamically, this thing is probably like a block of wood
trying to push itself along. But the speed is exhilarating and I hold the speed
for a moment. The bike is as smooth as if it were on rails.
We gas up the bikes again near Fort St. John, the energy
capital of British Columbia. We head south on Highway 29 past Hudsons Hope and
head for the valley that holds Chetwynd, British Columbia. On the map, it looks
to be one of the most northerly towns in British Columbia, a sort of line in the
sand where civilization ends. To the north is simply endless forest.
As we turn onto 97, the road feels high in the forest. We can
see for some distance overlooking the Peace River Plateau. We descend a very
steep hill and head down into the valley. A few miles later we pass a sign along
the road that tells of a landslide of 15 million cubic yard of dirt that slid
down onto the road. There was so much volume to the slide, it fell into the
Peace River and blocked it for half a day. The river downstream dried up as the
level here continued to rise. The river rose 24 feet along its banks and finally
cleared the top of the slide in the riverbed.
We roll through Hudson’s Hope, home to the
W.A.C. Bennett
Dam and stop to stretch our legs for a minute. Greg says the 600-foot high dam
created Williston Lake 15 miles to the west in the Peace River canyon. The
earthen dam is supposed to be one of the largest earthen structures in the
world. The Gordon M. Shrum generating station in the dam provides all the
electrical power in these parts. Greg also says Williston Lake is the largest
lake in all of British Columbia. It lies in a valley called the Rocky Mountain
Trench.
We arrive in Chetwynd and pull into some apartments. They
look like every other apartment complex I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure what I
expect. It must be a part of me that keeps expecting these people to be so
different than Americans. This apartment complex could have been anywhere in
North America.
We walk up to his buddy’s apartment, and Greg introduces me
to Lyle. They have been friends for years and used to be roommates. Now Greg
lives 6 hours north in Fort Nelson. Lyle is 34 and recently divorced after 10
years of marriage. The conversation flows into the evening and they treat me as
though I am the guest of honor.
We prepare to go out to a local country bar. I have never
even been to a country bar before. Although I think I have seen one in a movie
somewhere, what was that movie with John Travoltra and that mechanical bull
thing? I don’t even like country music, that might have something to do with
it.
We get to the club and the country twang fills the air
flowing into the street. The bar is 80 percent guys, nice ratio. Greg and Lyle
meet up with some old friends and introduce me. I always wonder how they
perceive me. From their perspective, I am just some guy Greg met on the
motorcycle. Some guy just traveling around for no apparent reason. Greg
introduces Jack and Nancy, her younger brother Travis and his girlfriend, and
Nancy’s parents.
He explains to them how he met me on a deserted road in the
forest of northern British Columbia. I am from California, traveling for two
weeks now, blah, blah, blah. Everyone acts like they have known me since
kindergarten. It’s instant acceptance.
Jack and Nancy used to be married. Except they never
divorced, so I suppose that means they’re separated but they refrain from
using that word. Nancy lives in Dawson Creek with her boyfriend, which isn’t
Jack. But everyone is still friends. Hello Jerry Springer.
I sit down at the table next to Jack. He is tall, thin and
has short dark hair. He is a little older than I, a little drunk, and doesn’t
stop talking. His mouth won’t stop moving as he tells of all his toys back
home. A boat, a dune buggy, blah, blah, he comes off as simply a total country
bumpkin.
Greg and Lyle go off and two step every other song with some
ladies. Watching the few women that are in the bar, everyone seems to know each
other. It leaves me with everyone I was introduced to. When they do rest a
minute, they catch up on old times. I have it admit the two-stepping looks fun.
I have no idea though, how to do it.
Everyone gets a little more drunk and I feel like I am in a
country music video. I don’t drink anything, not much into alcohol. The
waitress approaches and offers us shooters. It’s alcohol poured into a
chemistry test tube and different color liquids. The fun part is you have no
idea what you’re getting. She even has all the test tubes in a test tube rack,
something from my chemistry class. I never quite understood drinking games. My
first roommate when I lived in the dorms was a bartender and talked constantly
about alcohol. My second roommate was just a plain ‘ole freshman alcoholic.
Then I survived active duty in the Marines where drinking is a time honored
tradition. Still don’t drink. I’ll pass.
I keep chatting with Jack as he downs the blue liquid in his
test tube and starts smacking his lips gasping for breath. Whatever that was, it
looks like it had some punch. I am more curious and drawn to Nancy but can’t
get a real conversation going. Even her parents are really nice people. They too
act like they’ve known me their whole lives. Two in the morning rolls around
and they kick everyone out of the bar. Everyone flows outside, and Lyle invites
everyone over to his place.
I am again drawn to Nancy when everyone settles in. I am most
curious about Jack from her perspective. My Jerry Springer self coming to the
surface, this has to be good. Jack couldn’t stop talking about her at the bar.
They were only married for a year and a half. Yet they were together for a total
of 6 years. Nancy begins to fill in some of the blanks. After they married, she
simply says they both changed. But after 6 years, it all sounds odd. Jack had
mentioned earlier in the night that he would do anything to get her back. I
threw that at her and she replied, "I want what I cannot have."
Whatever that means.
Travis seems like the prototypical 19-year-old. Full of
aspirations and expectations, he wants to be a movie star. He’s full of
grandiose plans and idealistic dreams. He wants to move to Hollywood and act,
rather than end up at the town pulp mill. His girlfriend, a gorgeous blonde
with a figure that defies gravity and a baby-faced look of 18 is very beautiful.
Without even talking to her, she seems pledged to him. They act like doves in
mating season to the point that it’s amusing. She never leaves his side or
conjures an independent thought of her own.
The group eventually leaves and Greg crashes in the spare
bedroom. I end up talking to Lyle for some time after that. At one point, he
stopped our conversation and said, "…if only I looked at life the way you
do 12 years ago". I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. Some sort of
reference to his marriage I suppose. It was getting late, at 4 a.m. we finally
called it a day. |
